Blood & Honey
by bamftastik
Summary: *NSFW/MA* Mahariel takes a rather reluctant Zevran on a hunt... The prompt was, obviously, honey.


She crouched atop the ridge, shading her eyes to stare out across the wood. Even beneath the canopy, noon came glaring, breaking round her as she rose. There was grace there, a calming patience… perhaps even something like peace.

She turned at his snort. "What?"

"Nothing. You simply look…"

There was a sway behind her steps as she moved down the hill toward him, her boots finding easy purchase in the slick earth. Smirking now, she lay a hand across his arm. "You're bored."

"I would not call it _bored_, per se."

Lyna laughed, moving past him. "Zev. It's okay. I just thought… with what you told me of your mother, you might want to…"

"Embrace my Dalish nature?" He smirked. "Shall we frolic in a meadow? Climb a tree? Commune with woodland creatures in song?"

He had meant it as a jest, but she stiffened, holding up a warning hand. "Do you hear that?" Her attention was turned to something beyond the trees, blades already slipping from their place at her back.

Zevran mirrored her but, beyond the soft hiss of steel, he heard only the breeze in the leaves above, the twitter of some distant bird. Ambient noises, forest noises, the strangeness of them setting his skin to prickling. What he wouldn't trade for a simple blade in a darkened street.

It burst through the underbrush, the bleating cry giving them only the briefest of warnings. Lyna slipped aside with enviable grace, leaving him to dive back toward the hill. One of the large white deer – a halla – it reared massive, throwing its head against the pair of wolves gnashing at its flanks.

She hesitated only a moment, darting near, blade slicing quick across one of the wolves' ankles. It turned on her, her daggers spinning upward to meet its jaws. Zevran, too, was moving, slipping wary round the maddened halla to take the other wolf from behind. It sensed him too late, his blade plunging easy between its shoulder blades. The halla fell heavy, its cries keening.

Lyna's wolf was still on its feet. She had backed away, crouching low and circling, daggers seeming to twitch restless in her hands. There was a smile there beneath those still calm eyes, the echoed growl almost imperceptible.

It lunged quick, but she was quicker, blades swinging up to find its belly in midleap. The force of it carried them both backward, her cry turning to surprise. But those jaws were still before they fell across her.

Rolling the beast aside, she propped herself on an elbow and smiled up at Zevran's offered arm.

"So this is Dalish hunting?"

"Not exactly." She let him pull her to her feet. "Don't tell me you're not impressed."

"Indeed I am. But it does seem… rather inefficient, does it not? An unnecessary risk."

"But an enjoyable one." Her smirk softened then, eyes straying to the halla. Still it stirred, trying to raise its head, the cries mumbled now. She moved quick, pausing only to stare down at the second wolf, the pity there undiminished.

Kneeling beside the great beast, she raised her hands in careful supplication. Once, twice it bucked before allowing her to lay a gentle hand across its nose. The words came whispered as she leaned close, strange and soft and soothing.

Zevran kept his distance, crouching to rest elbows on his knees. He knew only a few words in the Dalish tongue, a handful of choice phrases taught to him by Lyna herself – though, he had to admit, even their curses sounded beautiful. This, though, was something new. She leaned closer still, resting her head against the halla's own, her smile soft and sad and surprising.

"Zev?"

"Mmm?"

"I need your help."

"If it is all the same to you, I would truly rather not."

Something of that hardness returned. "Please."

He rose slow, blinking down at her, at the halla. Its eyes were wide, panicked still, black and deep as all the shadows of the wood. It started at his approach, but her arm was round its neck now, her whispers close against its ear. Its chest was torn half away, clawed and bitten, the wound cross its gut already spreading a pool across the grass. This was a poor death, a slow death.

"You want me to show it mercy."

"Surely you've done this before."

"This? No." He snorted. "And I generally was not paid for mercy. It pays quite a bit less, from what I hear."

"Zev."

"Yes, yes." Again he drew his blade, crouching low. The halla struggled wild, knowing enough to sense its end, knowing enough not to welcome it, pain or no. He found himself turning away as the blade slipped cross its neck.

Lyna moved with it as it bucked its last, unknotting from that strange embrace only when it fell still. She sat back on her heels a moment, sighing deep as she let her eyes stray to the canopy above. When finally she looked to him, the familiar half-smile had returned. "Hmm. You should have moved."

Glancing down, he snorted. "Ach, blood all over me again?"

Lyna slid close, laughing as she traced a hand across his chest. "Has anyone ever told you that for a hardened killer, you're a bit of a wimp?"

"Oh? Is it so wrong to want things that are clean? Things that are beautiful?" He let his eyes linger, holding to hers as he smirked. "And you are looking no better yourself, my dear."

"It was a big wolf."

Her eyes lit on something behind him, grin widening as she crawled toward the trampled brush. There, amidst the torn and twisted branches, wound a single vine of fluted yellow flowers. It was miraculously unspoiled, miraculously free of the stinking death pooling below. Lyna knelt there, uncaring, running gentle fingers across the petals. "Do you know what this is?"

He raised a dubious brow.

She plucked one of the flowers free, eyes falling closed as she inhaled. The yellow was muted, deepening to white at the petal's edges, so pale against her skin. He was watching her openly now. Meeting his gaze with a wicked smile, Lyna brought the flower to her lips and sucked deep.

"Honeysuckle." She laughed, running her tongue slow across her lips. "Would you like a taste?"

He only chuckled, throaty, deep.

Plucking a second bloom she slid closer. His hand strayed along her arm, fluttering upward cross her leathers to sweep an errant hair from her cheek. He clucked his tongue teasingly. "Let us get you out of these filthy things, yes? Not that I mind the odd bit of filth on occasion, but let us just say that sweat is sweeter on the tongue than blood."

Close they were, faces only a hairsbreadth apart, but she held the flower between them grinning still.

His lips pursed. "Mmm?"

"A taste. Here."

"Ahh, metaphor. You are a cruel and fickle thing." He took the flower between two fingers, holding it as though it might bite. Bringing it to his lips, he smiled for the scent but again fixed her beneath a questioning stare. "Must I?"

"Can't be worse than anything else you've had in there."

"Alas, this is true." He smiled then, tucking the blossom behind her ear. "But I much prefer it here."

"Suit yourself." She stood quick, hands slipping beneath her tunic, tugging it over her head as she turned away. Already she was moving across the tiny clearing, smiling back at him over her shoulder. There, etched across the skin, was a thin and winding vine. It mirrored the designs on her face but here, just beside her spine, bloomed a tiny fluted flower of brilliant gold.

A taste indeed. Zevran stood, smirking now. "Why Warden, I believe that you are toying with me."

"Perhaps I just want to see you frolic."

"If the clothing is indeed optional…" He tugged at the straps of his leathers, but already she was moving through the trees, laughter swelling as she was lost to sight.

Slipping the tunic over his head, he darted after her. The steps came easy, his footing sure and silent, but still he was outmatched. This was her land, her world and he would always be a stranger.

The brush broke soon enough, dropping into a wide and curving path. There she waited, feigning boredom, arms folded cross her chest as she leaned against a tree. He paused, watching as she watched, tracing the lines of her. There were more tattoos, more than she had even hinted, another vine curving cross her belly to dip beyond the border of her breeches.

As he stepped near, though, she was gone again, running up the path. Again he followed, laughing, carrying nothing for the watching trees.

But he had not expected to catch her so soon. Rounding the bend she had pulled short, his quick steps turning the near collision into an awkward hug. His hands slipped round her waist, but she pushed away, bending low beside a fallen log. She crouched there, seemingly forgetting her nakedness, to lift something carefully from the ground.

"What is it?"

"Bear, by the tracks."

In his haste, he had left his blades behind. Well, save the one in his boot, the one in his belt, the one in his…

"But look." She stood, turning to him, the prize held carefully between her hands. It was a mashed thing, mangled, a sort of half-formed cone.

His eyes, though, lit above his smirk. Whatever it was, her excitement was clear.

Lyna shrugged, following his eyes, gaze trailing now across his own bared chest. Stepping close, she traced a finger along the designs, along one of the bold and plunging lines. "They are beautiful. I did not realize the Antivans had such skill."

"And I did not realize that the Dalish practiced so much of it. Faces, yes, but this…" His hand was almost hesitant, following the motif across her collarbone.

She was warming now, stepping closer but still it pressed between them, her forgotten prize. "Ah." She smiled. "Andruil has smiled upon us."

"Has she?"

Turning the cone round she plunged a pair of fingers inside, bringing them slick and sodden to her lips.

"You, dear Warden, have some truly disgusting habits."

She bumped against him with her hip, turning away again. "It's _honey_. The bear did most of the work, but if you…" She blinked at him. "What?"

He only shook his head.

"Don't tell me they don't have honey… Basted cross bread to make cakes? Hardened into cubes for the children?"

"Let us just say that my own childhood was not so… idyllic. But, yes, I know what honey is. Expensive, is it not?"

"_Expensive?_ You must be joking. Here." She offered him the cone, but he held up a forestalling hand. "Oh come on; it's just a hive. You can find them anywhere."

"Flowers you can drink? Sweets from the earth?" He smirked. "And you wonder why I once found the Dalish so exotic."

"And what do you think now?"

Again he stepped close, smiling down at her. "I am… unsure. But was there not something else you promised to show me?"

She mirrored that grin, hand again parting the brittle shell of the hive, fingers coming wet and sticky to her lips. There they lingered, her tongue snaking round, sucking slow as she gazed up at him. "A taste, wasn't it?"

Arching onto her toes, her lips found his. The sweetness should have been expected, but it bloomed there crisp and deep and pure, his lips parting to take her in. Her tongue darted once, twice, teeth finding his lower lip, her gasp coming sharp as his hands wrapped round her waist. Closer they pulled her, crushing her against him.

But still she held to the hive, pulling back to meet his eyes, to catch a heaving breath. His eyes strayed, following the flush of her, hands now sliding up her back. Again she dipped her hand into that sweet wet, trailing her fingers cross his shoulder, neck, lips. He hesitated only a moment taking her between playful teeth, sucking deep, sucking hard.

Her laugh was throaty now. "See? Told you you would like it." Pressing again against him, her lips found that trail, straying from his mouth to the sweetness of his chin, lapping, sucking to follow it down and cross his neck. It arched back, his head rolling to expose the path, her lips pulling hard as they trailed across his shoulder. Still her fingers moved ahead of her, flitting cross his chest now, spreading with them that hot and sticky warmth.

His lips fell against her hair, breathless kisses seeming to guide her lower still, but he had found the hive now, taking it almost roughly from her hands. He plunged inside uncaring, hand covered with that strange the stinging sweetness, his other pressing against the small of her back, pushing her lower still. He leaned over her now, bending her back to fall amidst the dirt and grass.

She seemed almost surprised, but the smile was maddening, dark and deep. His lips met hers roughly, impatiently, his hand already slipping lower, cupping round her breast, spreading the sweetness thick and warm. He followed it, nipping only briefly at her neck, trailing the snaking vine across her shoulder.

Now, now the kisses deepened, sucking hard against the bone, slipping lower in lingering flickers of his tongue. He seemed to trace the rise of her, each breast in turn charted full, no bit of that precious nectar wasted.

Again he filled his fingers, tracing now across her belly. There was a stain on her hip, some last sign of the day's violence, tart and bitter beneath the sickly sweet. Blood and honey, honey and blood. It seemed to fill his head then, the mixture somehow right, somehow perfect. Lifting arms slipped beneath her, drawing her to him as he drank deep.

But he had reached the vine now, that last imagined pathway leading beyond the world's edge. Raising his head, he found her watching him, saw impatience behind those eyes.

The laces came loose easily, but he pulled the breeches away slowly, giving each and every leaf his full attention. Lyna was moaning now, struggling against him in frustration. His lips worked still as he peered up at her, smiling as his tongue snaked slow.

Only when he reached the top of her thigh did he slip back, pulling the breeches free in a single flourish. Her legs twisted almost involuntarily, curling, stretching against the grass. She was watching him now, watching him watch. He smiled.

Again his hand went to the hive, cracking the delicate shell in his eagerness. He trailed it from ankle to knee to thigh, lifting her leg to his lips, moving now from bottom to top. She almost kicked, twisting again but still his hand was moving ahead of him, parting, plunging deep. Lyna would not be so easy to break but now, now she screamed.

Deeper still he moved, twisting, savoring. Lowering himself to his chest, he traced a last lingering kiss along her thigh, moving now across that soft and shuddering flesh, down into that deeper musk. Honey yes, but this sweetness was new, the blend heady, thick, intoxicating. Still his fingers moved, spreading that warmth, coming now to his lips as he looked up at her.

She was no longer watching, head lost beneath the arch of her, beneath those pointed and heaving breasts. Arms wrapping round her waist, he pulled her closer still, burying himself against her as his hand stretched upward to circle round a nipple.

Again she rocked, the force of it nearly knocking him away, but her hand wrapped round his wrist, insistent, pulling, drawing him upward. He fell across her breathless, meeting that thick and smoky gaze. The kiss was deep, lingering, but she was pushing him back now, falling seated against a toppled tree.

Her legs wrapped round, body rising as her hands slipped between them, her breasts brushing teasing cross his face. But it was those hands, _her_ hands that twisted, gripping him beneath the leathers, tugging frustrated at the laces there. Soon enough he was free, her hands slipping deeper, lower, drawing him out. She hesitated only a moment, shifting again, eyes boring into his own.

There she rocked, slow and lingering, before lowering herself with enough force to take his breath away. His hands were on her before he could think, slipping past her hips to knot against her ass, the softness so surprising for the muscle there. Again her hips rolled, deep and hard and almost painful but again it came and again, her head thrown back to laugh into the trees.

His hands were moving higher now, pulling her harder against him, bracing against the small of her back. He rocked onto his knees, her thighs squeezing for balance, but he held here there a moment more, suspended against him. One hand snaked behind her, tugging roughly at the tousled bun, letting her hair fall long and wild and free. He lowered her then, still pressing, still never leaving her, back into the grasses.

She paused there, head tilting pillowed against her hair, blinking up at him. A moment of perfect stillness, even here. Smiling down, he rolled against her, slow but building, watching her teeth play across her lip as her eyes fell closed.

He mirrored her, finding something of that unthinking peace, burying his face against his tensed and straining arm as he plunged deeper still. He could not say how much time had passed before that hand trailed against his cheek, cupping against the marks there. His eyes opened slow, almost confused, but she was smiling still.

"Here." Her hands wrapped round his arms, twisting to lay him down, the gasp coming thick and bitter as she left him.

Lyna, though, only laughed, lips trailing fleeting against his own. Again her legs wrapped round, facing away from him this time, the warmth of her coming hard and close against him again. His hand trailed along her spine but she was lifting her hair now, exposing that one, perfect blossom as she smiled back over her shoulder.

He was rising then, arm coming round to cup her breast, pulling her low to meet him. His lips traced it at last, that promised taste, drawing her back to fall against his chest. There she pressed, hips rolling, his own straining up to meet her. Her nose brushed against his cheek, a reaching kiss, before rising again, falling forward to brace her palms against the earth, to press against him with renewed strength. Zevran watched it, there before him, fingers trailing cross those lines, lingering again on that one unexpected flower.


End file.
